A Plague
by Jaswinder
Summary: A really weird take on the first confrontation of the Pharaoh and the Thief King. [Biblical themes]


**Notes:** Older fic that I decided to upload for the heck of it. Uh, this is a weird one. Watching the early dub AE eps and listening to the Prince of Egypt sound track to much gave me this fubar one-shot plot bunny. I dunno, I guess ol' Thief King was just starting to remind me of another guy who barged into a Pharaoh's court, demanded justice and summoned a magic snake thing. I'm not trying to infer anything anywhere so I hope this doesn't offend anyone. Like I said, blame the plotbunnies.

**Genre:** Drama  
**Warnings:** Religious overtones  
**Rating:** PG I guess, nothing really bad except the end.

---

_Because you will not free my people  
All throughout the land of Egypt..._

I send a pestilence and plague  
Into your house, into your bed  
Into your streams, into your streets  
Into your dreams, into your sleep  
Until you break, until you yield  
I send the swarm, I send the horde  
Thus saith the Lord...  
-Prince of Egypt soundtrack, "The Plagues"

The smooth stone floor of the palace was polished enough to carry hazy reflections on its surface. There was a shimmering echo of the intruder's red cloak that swirled around his feet like a crimson shadow.

It was such a strange color to wear. Egypt was a land of linens, whites and creams and soft yellows. Only the noble had the privilege of color, and even that was usually kept to gold and jewels and lapis lazuli. But to wear red, and so much of it; red, of all things! The man was wearing nothing less than the flag of the Chaos God on his back.

The one place the man did bear white was also an aberration. His hair was wild, natural, and the color of the moon, not cut or even covered with a proper wig. It made him look like something feral. And on his face was a wicked scar, a grave imperfection that he had made no attempt to cover up with make up or cloth. It was as if he relished in the flaw, brazenly defying the craving for order and purity that ran through Egyptian culture even deeper than their fascination with death or the sun.

The Pharaoh's priests stood tense and gripped their Items. The man was unarmed. He had only a simple staff, clutched tightly in his rough hand. But there was no fear on his face or in his posture. In his eyes was a deep conviction, worn only by those who know they're doing something noble.

"How did you get past the guards!" Mahaad was the first to break the heavy silence, gripping the Ring. He did not like how it was acting. 

The stranger smiled and chuckled silently. "There is no reason to raise your voice. I don't come looking for a fight. I have a request for the Pharaoh."

"You trespass on sacred ground! Lowly wretch, you are unworthy of an audience with the Pharaoh," Seto growled, then looked back at the king, "Your majesty, let our Items judge this man. He could only have stolen that jewelry he wears--"

But the Pharaoh was intrigued. He lifted his hand and Seto silenced. "What is it you wish to ask, stranger?"

"I am curious; do you know the origins of your precious Items?" The thief lifted his head, and there was something smug and self-assured about the way he smiled. Akhenaden seemed to flinch for a moment.

The Pharaoh blinked and looked down at his puzzle. "They were created by my father, to keep peace among the lands."

"So I've heard," the man held his staff in both hands and examined the head. "But do you know _how_ they were created? What the ritual involved?"

"We have heard enough!" Akhenaden's outburst caused the other priests to jump.

"If you are curious, Pharaoh," the intruder grinned faintly, "You could ask the Eye-bearer there."

The aging priest turned to the throne. "Don't listen to this man, my Pharaoh. The last Pharaoh had many enemies and detractors, and they spread lies about the Items--"

The Pharaoh furrowed his brow. "Such as?"

The thief's face suddenly went grim. "The Ring, my mother."

Mahaad stood back in confusion and gripped his item. The other priests were equally puzzled; all except for Akhenaden, whose expression grew angrier.

"The Rod, my father," He continued. His grip on his staff tightened.

"He's lying," Akhenaden hissed.

"The Eye," The red-cloaked man turned to the old priest and looked him in his remaining eye, "My grandfather."

"What is he talking about, Akhenaden?" The Pharaoh wondered, eyeing the one priest who seemed to know something he did not.

"The Scales," the thief's eyes narrowed, "My brother, my sister."

"He's -- he's mad, that's all," Akhenaden sputtered.

"Sir," Karim looked down at his Scales, "The Scales stand even. This man is not lying."

"The Necklace," the intruder turned to Isis, "My grandmother. The Key," his eyes went to Shaada, "My neighbors."

"Then there must be something wrong!" Akhenaden tried to snatch the Scales out of Karim's hand, "He must be using some sort of magic--"

"The Puzzle," The man spoke loudly now, drowning out the tussle between the two priests, "All of my village, all of my people, blood and bones burned down into the gold for your godless Items!"

Akhenaden made a choking sound. The Pharaoh straightened in his throne, painted eyebrows falling into the faintest of glares. "I ask again, intruder, _what do you want?_"

"What do I want?" The thief echoed, shaking his head. "I want them back. All of them. Give me the Items, Pharaoh. Give me back my people! They'll do your work no longer!"

"What! I don't know what you're talking about, but that's --"

"Pharaoh," the deadly seriousness in the man's voice caused them to all go quiet, "_Let my people go._"

The thief stood panting, glaring so hatefully at the Pharaoh that the ruler recoiled by a fraction of an inch.

"Priests," the Pharaoh issued a command, "This man is obviously possessed by a dark _ka._ Release it from him!"

The six priests moved in unison, readying their attack. The stranger lowered his head. He lifted his stick high, as if to defend himself --

"I would not recommend attacking me."

Then tossed it across the room. It hit the floor and spun to the feet of the priests.

"What is this? You defend yourself by throwing sticks at us?" Seto started to laugh, but then the staff moved.

The wood uncoiled itself and lifted itself off of the floor, curving into an S shape. The end opened up into a mouth. The wood faded to white scales, and wings burst out of the back.

The priests gasped and stumbled back as the staff unfolded into a giant white serpent, and then a man with the body of a serpent. Huge, feathered wings snapped out of nothing and shadowed the throne as the monster loomed, hovering protectively over the red-cloaked man it now dwarfed.

"How--!" Even the Pharaoh was shocked. Shadow Magic, he could understand, but what was _that?_

"I ask again, Pharaoh," the stranger growled, and the monster's wings flared, "Let my people go!"

"I -- no," the Pharaoh clutched his Puzzle possessively, "I do not care what tricks you manage, stranger, these Items are never falling into your hands!"

There was a long stretch of silence. The court stood in the serpent's shadow and did not move. Finally, the thief lowered his head, and the divine monster withered back into a simple staff. He picked it up.

"That's your decision, then." It was not a question. "Very well."

He turned, and started to leave.

Seto lunged after him, holding his Rod threateningly, but the Pharaoh held out his hand. "No. Let him go. We cannot move against him until we understand his powers..."

"Don't worry, Pharaoh," The man stopped, looking over his shoulder. "I will be back to see if you've changed your mind."

He chuckled darkly and stepped out of the palace doors.

The Pharaoh relaxed in his seat, letting out a sigh. He shook his head. "At ease, my priests. See if you can send some scouts to follow him."

They nodded in affirmation and moved to do just that. The Pharaoh slid out of his throne. "I will be in the royal quarters; I do not wish to be disturbed."

He left the court behind and walked down the polished halls, eyes following the murals on the walls. The king did not fully understand what had happened, but something told him that Akhenaden would be able to illuminate him later.

He finally reached his chamber and relaxed on his bed of down and linens, but it was impossible for him to get comfortable. Some sort of dread was bothering him, a small, niggling feeling in the back of his mind that would not leave.

_It's just one man,_ he told himself, _If he wishes to go against all of Egypt, and the gods themselves, it's his death._

He had only been laying down for a matter of minutes when a chorus of screams came from outside. The king shot upright and ran to his balcony.

People in the village that neighbored the Palace were running in a confused panic. Some were clutching bloody garments, others were nude and soaked in red, as if their bath had been horribly disrupted. Gasping fish flopped on the shores. The Pharaoh's eyes quickly scanned the horizon.

His eyes fell on one lone figure, who stood in the waters of the Nile. It was the red cloaked man, with the white hair and his staff. Though there had to be a thousand or more paces between them, he swore the stranger was looking straight at him. 

The Pharaoh froze in horror when he saw what had happened.

The red of the man's cloak had bled out, and turned the Nile crimson.


End file.
